


Autumn Chill

by InnerSpectrum



Series: Mystrade is Our Division Prompts [13]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Fluff, Light Angst, Mystrade is our Division FB Fic Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-09
Updated: 2018-10-09
Packaged: 2019-07-28 16:11:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16245233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InnerSpectrum/pseuds/InnerSpectrum
Summary: A memory takes Mycroft back in time. Greg knows how to bring him back.





	Autumn Chill

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Mystrade is our Division FB Fic Prompts | Cold

It was a lovely fall evening. Mycroft and Greg were in the gazebo enjoying a rare lazy Saturday afternoon when the British Government suddenly shuddered.

“Myc?” Greg looked up from his book at the man before him.

“’C-c-c-old.” Mycroft shivered, his teeth chattering in the warm afternoon.

“Oh love, let’s get you inside where it’s warm.” Greg rose knowingly and helped his husband inside.

* * *

Mycroft Holmes was twelve years old and in his second year of Key Stage 4/High School. He could have home studied, but having done so for a good portion of his education, he had read enough to know socialization was important and implored his parents to let him attend boarding school. It gave him many lessons, many valuable, some he could have done without.

It was the day before holiday break at the academy. It had snowed the night before, but the morning dawned cold yet surprisingly pleasant on the campus grounds. Their last professor of the day in holiday spirits, and a need to make it to the airport in time, released his charges early. Several of the boys decided to go smoking by the lake before heading back to their dorms. Mycroft was done with his last class an hour previously and had taken refuge near the small lake to enjoy the fresh air and study. His head was in a book of treatises, when the boys approached.

“Hey Dennis! El Lardo the Smart Arse is here!” Dwight yelled out to classmate.

Dwight Winberg and Dennis McCauley, upper classmates by a year, were with their three other cohorts. Mycroft called the lot of them The Nicks in their English class. Dwight, who had a passing resemblance, from far away and in the dark, to the actor Nicholas Cage took it as a compliment. It took Elaine, the girlfriend of Hugh in their group, to inform them Nick Bottom was character from Shakespeare’s “A Midsummer Night’s Dream.” The character with arse’s head.

From his first day when he made the mistake of correcting Dwight in maths, twice, he had been a thorn in Mycroft’s side at nearly every turn. Today proved no different. Mycroft packed his books and tried to leave, but Dwight was in a mood. Dwight shoved Mycroft and he fell on the snowy ice. Being a portly boy, not athletically inclined, it gave the older boys much sport watching him rise and fall several times as he struggled to regain his footing only to pushed down again. As they jostled and shove none had noticed how far onto the lake they had moved until in a fit of frustration, as what often happens when the bullied has had enough, Mycroft swung back catching Dennis with a well-placed shot in the mid-section. Dwight in turn grabbed the strap of Mycroft’s book bag, swung him around and sent him sprawling.

By the time they heard the ice crack, it was too late, Mycroft had fallen in.

Dwight and Dennis fell over themselves laughing as they walked away from the floundering boy. In his panic he had forgotten where he was until he heard the laughter and realized he was on the shallow end. Hugh still laughed, but at least stayed long enough to help pull him out before running. Mycroft was drenched and chilled to his bones. The weight of the rapidly freezing water dragging him down as he slogged his way back to his dorm.

He had never been so cold in his life and vowed he would never be again.

Years later in the early days of his career he was once on a mission that took him to Oymyakon, Russia, 1 in the dead of winter, for a week. Even then he had not felt as cold as he had rising out of the lake that winter.

* * *

Still, decades later, the mind can play its tricks.

On a warm autumn day, one warm enough that it did not require a jumper, Mycroft found himself shivering uncontrollably in his own garden.

This was not the first time this has happened.

Greg brought his husband inside to the living room and wrapped him in throw. A hot mug of cocoa brought to his lips minutes later. Greg sat behind him on the floor beside the fire and held him.

It takes mere moments to get him in this state. In this case, a passage in the novel Mycroft read took him back to that winter afternoon and he was chilled anew as his mind palace relived the frigid moments. It takes a little more to bring him out of it.  

Greg knew Mycroft was better when he shrugged out of his cocoon. He remained seated between his love’s legs and wrapped in his arms, but turned to face him.

“Thank you.” Mycroft kissed him. “God, you’re hot as a furnace. It’s all the snow on top.”

“Hot as a furnace for you? In more ways than one. Can I show you?” Greg smiled as he stood. Mycroft rose with him.

“A demonstration or twenty would be delightful.”

**Author's Note:**

>   
>  It gets pretty cold in Oymyakon, Russia (Siberia)   
>  ^return to paragraph^


End file.
